


I'll Be a Good Sport

by MooseFeels



Series: twitter decisions [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drinking, Inspired by Steven Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-24 12:59:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15631176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: Yuuri wakes up hungover. His friend sort of commits treason.(or: steven universe au. yuuri's nice to one alien, and now, well,)





	1. Chapter 1

Yuuri wakes up disastrously hungover, with his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He opens his eyes  _ just  _ enough to see the sunlight creeping past the curtains, and he groans. 

What did he  _ drink _ last night?

Yuuri yawns and falls back asleep. 

When Yuuri wakes up again, the headache is still pretty bad, but afternoon has slipped through early morning and it’s no longer so painfully bright in his bedroom. He sits up and scratches his belly under his t-shirt. He scrapes his fingernails over his scalp. He steps out of the bedroom, pees, and then wanders into the living room. 

There’s a knock on his door. 

Yuuri turns and looks.

The beach house is small. A bungalow, more than anything. There’s a bedroom a bathroom and then one main, central room. And there’s a front door, and a screen door. 

He didn’t close the front door last night, is the thing. The screen door is open. Someone is standing in his doorway, knocking on the door. 

Yuuri has a few thoughts, all at once. 

_ Tall _ .

“Hi,” the person in the doorway says. Their voice is faintly accented, sweet. They have an amalgamation of long, pointed features, sharp and severe. They’re pale, in a strange sort of way, and they have a fringe of silvery hair falling over their eyes and--

“There’s a rock in your face,” Yuuri says, groggy. 

The stranger, their hand drifts up from the doorway to the six-inch circular rock embedded in their forehead. They touch it, briefly. They blush. They don’t blush  _ pink _ , though; their skin picks up a greenish flush. They nod. 

“We met,” they say. “You told me to come here?”   
Yuuri looks at this beautiful, tall stranger, in his doorwary, and he nods. “I-- I see,” he says. “Come in, I guess.”

The stranger bends low, through the door.

Yuuri blinks up at them. They stand  _ tall _ in the room, almost twice Yuuri’s height, somehow. They have blue eyes, clear and sparkling, and they glance nervously around the room. They are long and tall and willowy-- something flexible to them. Something like a dancer. 

“Have you had breakfast?” Yuuri asks, dumbly.

They shake their head, slowly.

“You’re very tall,” Yuuri says. 

“It’s one of my several defects,” the stranger says. “It was why I was sent from the court of my diamond to here on Earth.”

“You can reach everything in the grocery store,” Yuuri says. “You’re lucky.”

The stranger blushes again, and looks away from Yuuri. “You’re very candid,” they say. 

“What do I call you?” Yuuri asks. “What-- what’s your name?”   
“My designation is Peal Facet 2GJL Cut 78G,” they say. “That’s what I’m called.”

Yuuri keeps looking at this impossibly tall stranger in his living room. Yuuri is just in his underwear, and he’s still  _ so _ hungover. He wipes his hand on his shirt, before offering it forward. “Well,” he says. “I’m Yuuri.”

The stranger smiles. Their smile is maddening gentle and kind and soft. “Yuuri,” they repeat. “Thank you.”

Yuuri nods. “I’m real hungover,” he says. “I'm going to make some coffee and toast, now.”

The stranger with the long, hard to remember name smiles again, and nods. “How can I help?”

Yuuri looks at the stranger. “It’s just toast,” he says. “It’s not-- it’s not complicated. And you’re a guest.”

The stranger looks down, at their feet. There is something so sad to them, something that pulls at Yuuri’s heart. 

“It is my duty to serve,” they murmur. “It is my duty to serve  _ you _ .”   
Yuuri opens his mouth. Yuuri closes his mouth. “I need to eat something,” he says. “And then-- then I think we can talk about that?”

_ What did he drink last night. _

* * *

 

He has always been taller than he was supposed to be. There is a defect in his making. It is one of the many traits that makes him fundamentally undesirable. His diamond has been sure to tell him, many times. He has always been too tall, too insubordinate, too willful. This is one of the features of his species; the wrongness at the root of him is expressed in his physical manifestation. No matter how he has tried, he cannot reform himself to be smaller, to be better, to be prettier. At his primary function-- an accessory-- he is a failure. At his secondary-- a servant-- he is a failure, too. 

This is how he finds himself banished, and inevitably, on Earth; the world that wouldn’t die. 

_ You are too willful by far, Pearl, and for this we will find you other uses _ , his diamond had said. He can still feel her voice deep into the core of his gem-- into himself, where she sees more clearly than he could ever hope to see himself.  _ Go be of use to the Jasper there. _

This is how he finds himself on Earth. 

He steps out of the ship delicately, feeling the new gravity on his body and new air against his skin. He steps away from the ship, tucked into a cliffside, hidden from view. The intel is a couple hundred years old, so it should still be accurate, and this place should still be mostly uninhabited but then--

“Oh!” Someone calls. “Hi!”

He turns, and there’s a human there, on the beach. 

This human is much, much smaller than he is. He wonders if maybe this human is a juvenile. 

The human stumbles over to him, but their feet catch on the sand and they trip and he reaches out and catches them. 

They have warm, brown eyes. Utterly soft and big and wide and friendly. They look at him and they laugh, freely. “Fuck,” they say. “Sorry. My-- I’ve had something to drink.” They pause for a moment, take a sudden breath, laugh a little more. “You’re so  _ tall _ . And very pretty. You’re very pretty.”

It makes him dizzy, to hear a stranger say such things about himself. Such tender lies.

He looks at the stranger and helps him back up to his feet. The stranger smiles again. “I’m Yuuri,” he says. “With a long  _ u _ .  _ Yuu _ ri.”

“Hello, Yuuri,” he answers. 

Yuuri smiles at him.

He smiles back, helpless against the feeling. It’s overwhelming. 

“Wow,” Yuuri says to him. “You’re even prettier when you smile.” Yuuri stumbles back forward, taking his hand and tugging him along. “Come with me! We have a bonfire, all my friends! Come dancing!”

* * *

 

Yuuri sits on the couch, with a cup of coffee and a plate of toast and a glass of water. 

The tall stranger sits in the chair opposite the couch, overwhelming the size of it. They look down at the floor, their silvery hair falling into their eyes. 

“We met last night,” they murmur. “On the beach.”

Yuuri feels his stomach drop. “Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

The stranger looks up at him, suddenly. “What do you mean?” They ask.

Yuuri winces, looking down at his breakfast. 

“I can be really-- I don’t drink often,” he says. He doesn’t. Every time he does, he does something stupid and almost destroys his whole life. “I’m sorry. If I hurt you. That I hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” they say, urgently. “You didn’t hurt me at all.”

Yuuri swallows, dryly. He takes a sip of his coffee. 

“I-- I didn’t know where else to go,” the stranger says. “And you told me to come here.”   
Yuuri looks at them. They’re beautiful and tall and strange and not quite  _ real _ . There’s something about how they bend space around themselves, something about how the light seems to waver and shimmer around them. There’s something about how their clothing cuts to their body, something like a military uniform. There’s something desperate about them. 

“Then stay,” he says. 

The stranger with a long strange name looks at him and smiles, and Yuuri’s heart stops for just a moment, and he feels his own world suddenly rearrange entirely around them. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


Yuuri is smaller than he is. Yuuri is about the size of most well-formed pearls, which is to say he stands at about chest-height on himself. Yuuri has dark hair that falls into his eyes, which are a rich, brown color. Yuuri has round features and a serious, quiet sort of expression and way of moving through the small house by the ocean where he lives. 

Yuuri wakes up in the morning and he makes breakfast and coffee. He sits by the window and reads, and then he drifts over to a desk and works on his computer, and then he showers. And some mornings he drifts out of the house entirely. 

“Good morning,” Yuuri always says to him, the round surface of his cheeks turning barely pink as he looks at him. 

“Good morning, Yuuri,” he always greets back. 

Yuuri is different than his diamond. He wonders, sometimes, if he understands what ownership is. He wonders if he knows that Yuuri is his new master. Yuuri doesn’t give him tasks. He doesn’t give him orders. He doesn’t bark at him. He offers him breakfast, or something called a shower. He asks him if he’s comfortable, or if he’d like anything. 

“I have everything I could want,” he answers. And it’s true. 

* * *

The beautiful stranger doesn’t leave, is the thing. He doesn’t even really seem to move. Yuuri wakes up in morning-- less like he wakes up and more like his alarm finally rings and he pulls himself, dreamless and exhausted out of his bed. Yuuri stumbles into the kitchen and makes breakfast. He reads some of his sources and then he opens the document that has his thesis and tries to wrangle some kind of  _ something _ out of it. And then he takes a shower, and he feels bad and tired and stupid, and then he usually tries to work more or goes to the market or goes to the beach and hucks rocks into the surf. 

And the beautiful stranger stays. He sits, alert, birdlike, on Yuuri’s sofa. He stands in the doorway of his kitchen or in the doorway of the house, and he just  _ stands _ there. Alert and eager and awake and beautiful. 

Yuuri wishes he knew what to  _ do _ . 

The stranger doesn’t eat anything. He doesn’t shower, he doesn’t seem to sleep. He just waits. He greets Yuuri when Yuuri greets him, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t hum, he doesn’t sing.

Yuuri wishes he knew what to do. 

Thursday blooms, the sky overcast and grey. Dark for late summer, and cooler than Yuuri was expecting. He shivers as he wakes up and drags on a shirt and stumbles out into the living room. 

And the stranger is gone. 

Yuuri blinks at the space for a moment, and then he grabs his glasses from the countertop and puts them on. 

There’s a crash outside. 

Yuuri rushes out the door and stands on the porch and--

The sky above is pewter colored and grey. The clouds are heavy and dark, obscuring the sun. The water of the sea is the same color, flat and angry and grey and terrifying. And from out of the water reaches a hand the size of a skyscraper. 

Yuuri gasps. He stands there, overwhelmed.

“Leave me alone!” The stranger on the beach shouts. “I’m not owned by a diamond anymore!”

Yuuri looks over from the stranger to the hand reaching up out of the water. 

There’s someone standing on it. 

There’s someone controlling it. 

They look tiny, standing on the surface of the hand made of water, delicate on top of it. Impossible. They have a cropped mop of hair that floats around their face. They look down, at the stranger. Their face at this distance is unknowable.

“You admit to treason, then,” the person standing on the hand says. “You must be returned to homeworld for trial and shattering.”

“Homeworld cannot take me; Homeworld does not own me!” The beautiful stranger answers. He surges forward, glaive drawn, and slices through the arm made of water. The whole structure rocks and wobbles, and the person on top stumbles. The beautiful stranger-- Yuuri’s stranger-- slices again and again, and fat disc of water peel out and away from the arm as it shrinks and wobbles before finally falling apart, dumping the new stranger into the sea. 

Yuuri stands on his porch, overwhelmed. Horrified.

“They don’t  _ own _ me!” Yuuri’s stranger calls out to the still sea. He stands there, silent, watching the waves drag in. 

Yuuri stands there, watching. Watching the stranger he’s known nearly a week, the stranger watching the sea. 

The sky clears, bit by bit. Eventually, Yuuri’s stranger turns around. 

He looks at him, up at Yuuri. His blue eyes like crystal. 

“You probably have questions,” he says, quietly.

Yuuri nods 

The stranger looks back down at the sand. He takes his glaive and with a flat palm, presses it into the stone in the center of his forehead. With a glow, the glaive disappears, until he just stands there, unarmed. As if this is a perfectly normal, ordinary thing to do-- to disappear a weapon into a body. To shake a hand made of water out of existing. 

The stranger, the beautiful stranger, the known stranger, Yuuri’s stranger, heads up the steps, to the porch, to Yuuri’s house. 

**Author's Note:**

> viktor's the pearl but he doesn't have a name yet because he hasn't picked one out yet? it's weird. viktor doesn't have a name yet but this is viktor. yes he is eight feet tall. no i am not answering questions. life is short and if you dont make art for yourself then who the fuck will.


End file.
